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Memorial Bread on the Fellow Ship
What’s New On The West Side? Summer Sermon Series
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Memorial Bread on the Fellow Ship
Photo credit: Jonathan Pielmayer (via Unsplash)
And they devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers (Acts 2:42 ESV).
On Bread and Ships
Paul broke bread with his fellow passengers on board a ship in Acts 27. He didn’t simply bread bread; he took bread, and blessed it, then broke it. It reminds us of what Jesus did in the Upper room (Matthew 26:26). It was in a boat that Jesus’s followers remembered they had failed to provide bread, and Jesus warned them of the leaven of the Pharisees (Mark 8:14-15). It seems a fitting set up to reflect more on the ideals of the Christian community. We break bread aboard the fellow ship.
And we break bread…to remember.
Luke records Jesus in the upper room saying to his disciples that blessed bread and wine are for you, just as his body is given for you; “do this in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19). And they did. The early disciples did. They devoted themselves to the breaking of bread (Acts 2:42). In Acts 20, it was the first day of the week when the disciples gathered. And Luke says they came together “to break bread” (Acts 20:7).
The “Not-So-Last” Supper
When Luke writes his gospel, he makes sure you know that Jesus ate meals with those in his company (5:33). When 5000 hungry followers were fed by the master, they all ate and were satisfied (Lk 9:17). He ate with Pharisees—even the ruler of the Pharisees, reclining next to them at the table (7:36; 14:1). He ate and drank with tax collectors and sinners (5:30). Some of his most important teaching takes place around a table.
And so when he knew he was about to be betrayed, Jesus had one final meal with his disciples (Lk 22:14-20). That’s what it’s called. The “last” supper.
But it wasn’t the last. Was it? Hardly anything about that night was the last. It wasn’t the last time he would be betrayed. It wasn’t the last time followers of his would tuck tail and run. It wouldn’t be the last time Jesus would be rejected. But there was something that was “last.” Do you know what it was? Satan was called the “accuser” all through Scripture. He always had something he could accuse us for. Something that legitimately barred us from feasting at the table with the Lord in the New Jerusalem on the final day. But no longer. In the cross, the accuser of the brethren has been cast down. And because of Jesus’ sacrifice, the veil of the Temple was ripped from top to bottom. There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus (Rom 8:1). And all are welcome at his table.
And so it was, that before Luke even finishes his gospel, followers of Jesus eat and drink with the Messiah himself. Two are walking on the road to Emmaus. They don’t quite know what to make of all they have heard. But Jesus shows up among them. He talks with them. They love it so much, they ask him to stay for dinner. And all of the sudden, in Luke’s story, he’s not the guest anymore; he’s the host. He takes bread, blesses it, and breaks it. Then he disappears. And there, at the table, the followers realize they had been with Jesus. In the next story, Jesus appears to his disciples, but Luke can’t finish the story without including what at first seems like a throw-away line. Jesus asks if they have any food? And then, he eats before them.
In Acts 10:41, Peter tells the crowd about how special it is to be an Apostle. And to have seen the resurrected Lord. He appeared “not to all the people” says Peter, “but to us who had been chosen by God as witnesses, who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead.”
Eating and drinking with Jesus was a staple part of life in the community of Christ. And it still is.
But eating with Jesus was also meant to be experienced as we eat with one another.
“We must continue to hold firmly to our declaration of faith. The one who made the promise is faithful. We must also consider how to encourage each other to show love and to do good things. We should not stop gathering together with other believers, as some of you are doing. Instead, we must continue to encourage each other even more as we see the day of the Lord coming” (Heb 10:23-25 GW)
Discerning The Body of Our Arguments
Do you remember COVID?
Who could forget? We learned we need each other. That community is vital and essential. God made the world and declared it was good. And then, do you know what it was in all of his creation that he said was NOT good? That any one person should be alone (Gen 2:18). “God sets the lonely in families,” says the Psalm. “We are born helpless,” writes C. S. Lewis; “As soon as we are fully conscious, we discover loneliness. We need others physically, emotionally, intellectually; we need them if we are to know anything, even ourselves.” And so, rejecting mandates to stay in our homes, we yearned to break free and to be together. We had Zoom. We had cell phones. But we learned that community was relational and present. Zoom didn’t cut it. Hearts demand connection, and connection comes about through real presence.
And, if we take the anecdotal evidence, it seems that we also learned that assembling together to commune with Christ and witness the faith together—well that was merely optional. One preacher in Texas tells this story:
“I began seeing people out at restaurants and grocery stores who had told me they weren’t coming to church because of COVID. My wife and I attended a Saturday night July 4th dinner and fireworks show with about 20 people from our church. We were all eating at the same tables, sharing the same food, talking loudly and laughing with each other in tight quarters. But at least half of those people told me they would be doing church from home the next morning.” Why? Because COVID.
You know hindsight is 20/20. Many of our members, many of our churches, did the best we could with an unknown situation. I mean, how often do we deal with a global pandemic? If you were unfortunate enough to be an elder or a school board member, or even a preacher or a school president during that time period, then—trust me—you emerged convinced that when James T Kirk said “I don’t believe in no win scenarios” he was wrong! Nobody won in those conversations. We all lost. And I don’t mean to rehash it now.
But I do think we can learn something truly valuable about fellowship by looking at three rather common reasons people had for avoiding church during COVID. These aren’t all the reasons. I know some very, very good reasons why some avoided coming on Sunday morning. Some knew that others had pre-existing conditions that meant if I was a bearer, I might take your life away; and my love for you is why I stayed away. I think that is a noble reason. There are other good reasons.
But some of our reasons (the ones that felt more like excuses) revealed a misunderstanding of the church’s mandate to be devoted to the fellowship.
The first reason I want to consider is a rather simple one: church, we said, isn’t really about meeting together. I mean, church is not a building. Church is not a worship service. Church doesn’t refer to those who are “packed in” but rather to those who are “called out.” Church is who you are and what you do 24/7 because God added you to church when you became a Christian. So what if we miss assembly? We can be and still are “church.”
There are some great truths in that paragraph, mixed with some questionable half-truths in that paragraph that, when put together, leads to a misleading and deeply flawed conclusion. Did you know that the sermon line we all heard growing up that the word church (or ekklesia) means “the called out” is, in fact, not true? That line comes from tracing a false derivation. It may be true that the church is “called out” of the world, called to be different. But the word ekklesia does not mean “called out.” What it does mean…is “assembly,” which requires assembling together. What it does mean is community, which involves communing together. What it does mean is congregation, which only makes sense if we congregate. To repeatedly, intentionally, miss assembly is in fact to miss church.
The second reason or excuse we gave is this one: extraordinary circumstances call for extraordinary allowances. After all, I must have heard the word “unprecedented” 1000 times. Look, we have phones to call our friends, and live streaming for services. In the case of an emergency, technology gives us what is essential without the risk.
True. Modifying the norms for the sake of unexpected situations should not always be seen as watering down the commands of God. God himself commanded a sheep or a goat to be sacrificed to him. But if you couldn’t afford one, two birds would suffice. And if you were really strapped, in abject poverty, with only a bag of flour in your cupboard, then, God said, give me flour (Lev 5:6-7, 11). Exceptions can be made. But, writes Keith Stanglin, would anyone assume from reading this that a wealthy man should be offering God flour?
A lawyer friend of mine likes to say “hard cases make bad law.” I believe that baptism as described in the New Testament and as practiced in the early church was full immersion in water. That’s what the word means, after all. But in the third century, this question was circulated widely: “what if an unbaptized person is on his deathbed, and he simply can’t make it to the pool…what then?” One of the great leaders of the church at that time said “I suppose in such an extraordinary case, given the options and circumstances, you can sprinkle or pour some water on their head if necessity demands it.” You know where I’m going with this. It didn’t take long for “if necessity demands it” to become one option among many, then the simplest and most preferred option. “If necessity demands it” quickly became “the norm.” (See Stanglin for more).
Is this not the case with the Lord’s Supper? I was not even a teenager yet in the late 80’s when I got a book of Christian humor cartoons. I remember one that featured a church building with the sign that read “made-to-order church.” And on the side of the building was a car drive thru line, with a drive-up window in which they handed out communion. That was a joke in the late 80s. In 2014, a church in Daytona Beach, Florida, offered a “drive-in theater” experience of church. You sat in your car to watch the sermon projected on the large outdoor screen, as carhops brought communion to your window. And one news reporter began their story about this church with this line: “purists might balk at a worship style in which even Communion isn’t very communal.” Fast forward 6 years and enter COVID, stage right.
The individualized, custom-made “sip and dip” cracker & juice option was certainly a helpful thing when we couldn’t leave our homes. And it remains a helpful thing for those who are permanently shut in. But as a norm for healthy members who believe in fellowship, it was never God’s intention. After all, “communion” involves actually communing with one another. It’s what the word means (1 Cor 10:16)! And in 1 Corinthians 10:16, what Paul says has so many layers, since the word translated “communion” is actually koinonia, which means “fellowship.” And the word “body” can refer to Jesus but also to the church. So listen to what he says:
“The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a fellowship in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a fellowship in the body of Christ?”
The third reason we gave during COVID I’d like to reflect on is this one: technology gives us virtually the same thing that we would get were we together. I used the word “virtually” because of its double meaning. Livestream and recorded services do actually give us a virtual option for worship. But we also say “virtually” to mean “almost” or “pretty much” as in “not really.” And both are correct.
Technology has been great for expanding our personal freedom. Our technology has allowed us to lay down the broom, and press play on the Roomba. It has allowed us to no longer wait in line for the check out person—the computerized machines can do it instead. What we haven’t realized is that these improvements to our individual lives have created great problems for our communal lives. Because they scream to the house-cleaners and the check-out personnel: we don’t need you anymore.
I’m grateful we can watch a sermon in the comfort our living room, take communion from ready-made cups, and reflect on Christian life along with God from the pristine environment on my back deck. But make it a habit, and what we are saying to the church is simply this: “I don’t need you anymore.” And in terms of building community, we are also signaling another sad message: “you don’t really need me.” And nothing could be further from the truth.
God gave us commandments—live streamed to Moses, and recorded in the book of Exodus. But grace and truth came to us in a person, fully present, whom we saw and experienced in the flesh. I can learn from you on YouTube. But I can’t share in this fellowship with you without being fully present.
Some years ago, the famous preacher Dwight L. Moody was sitting by the large fireplace in the home of a prominent citizen of Chicago. Somehow the topic of church membership and involvement came up. “I am of the opinion that I can be just as fine a Christian outside of church as I can be inside it,” said the owner of the house. Moody didn’t say a word. Instead, he stood up from his chair and reached beside the fireplace. Taking hold of a poker, he then scooted off of the fire one single piece of burning coal, placing it on the hearth. The two men then sat there together in silence, watching as the burning ember slowly died out.
A Christian writer, just after the first century had ended, wrote these words to the Christians in Ephesus:
Take heed to come together often to give thanks to God and show forth his praise. For when you assemble frequently in the same place, the powers of Satan are destroyed and the destruction at which he aims is prevented by the unity of your faith.
We share faith. Let me say that again. We share faith. Because we share Christ. And the most visible place where that is put on display is in the church assembly. It’s what the word means.
And lest we forget, church was originally made up of, and intended for, those who didn’t have, and couldn’t afford computers or phones. Those who had to go long distances, at great risk to their health and their lives. And it was to them that the Hebrew writer said, “do not forsake the assembling of yourselves together,” and don’t forget that one of the great reasons you do it is to “encourage one another,” “to stir one another up to love and good works,” and to do it “all the more as you see the Day approaching.”
“The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a fellowship in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a fellowship in the body of Christ?” (1 Cor 10:16)
Asking New Questions
Growing up, I heard lots of classes and sermons about the Lord’s Supper. The questions I remember asking (the questions I remember my teachers asking, the questions I remember my preaching asking and answering) were the “who” “what,” “when” and “where” questions about the Lord’s Supper.
What does the Lord’s Supper consist of? Unleavened bread, I was told; and grape juice (some used wine, but more sensible Christians used Welch’s).
When do we take the Lord’s Supper? The day of the week is Sunday. Which Sunday? Every Sunday.
We dabbled in the “who” question: who is this for? “Baptized believers,” I was told, as mom gently slapped my hand grabbing for the juice while still a 6 year old pagan.
And we even discussed the “why” in a limited sense. If someone had asked young me why we take the Lord’s Supper I would have answered quickly with a 3-word response: Because it’s commanded.
Those are not bad answer. In fact, I think those answers are good answers to MY questions. But Tom Olbricht once taught me the Bible isn’t meant to answer our questions nearly as much as it is written to question us. as it is meant to question us.
In 1 Cor 10-11, Paul talks about the Lord’s supper in more detail than any other place in the New Testament. And he is very concerned about it how they were doing it. They were doing it wrong. He wanted them to do it right. We know they took it when they met, writes David Garland; but wouldn’t you know, “he says nothing about how frequently, when, or where they meet.”
But he does ask a question. You see, there is a way to do the Lord’s supper wrong. And the Corinthians figured out how--which prompted Paul’s question:
“Do you not have houses to eat and drink in?,” asked Paul; “Or do you despise the church of God and humiliate those who have nothing? (1 Cor 11:22)
To put it in language for today: “You have come to the table as the body of Christ. Do you not know that others are invited here, too?”
I learned this week about “the long-handled spoon exercise.” Sam Wells describes it this way:
you each tie a spoon to a broom handle, and then see how long it takes a table full of young people to work out how to eat the bowl of soup that’s in front of them. The answer, of course, is that they can’t, and everyone goes hungry. But what they can do is each feed the person opposite them across the table. And when they work that out, everyone gets a good meal.
It reminded Wells (and me) of the famous C. S. Lewis line—that hell is a banquet table filled to the brim with the finest of foods. But all the people around the table are skeletons. Because the forks are 4-feet long, and these self-centered heartless ones refuse to feed each other.
It’s easy to get caught up in consumerism and just be that: “a consumer.” But the supper is meant to challenge that assumption about myself and life. I’m not the only one invited. And this supper is something meant to be shared.
Greco-Roman meals offered first class and second class seating. First class was the Triclinium or dining room. Space was limited, and all the guests reclined. Second class was back in the atrium, where people were forced to sit.
To make matters worse, Corinth had just been through a severe famine. Can you imagine how the gap between the have’s and the have-not’s might have widened even more in a time of lean, when the “have’s” feast out in their plenty, while the “have not’s” wither on the vine? Paul could correct the problem by encouraging more donations to non-profits—you know, set up a soup kitchen, for example. No—Paul wants to change how they see the world when they see it through the broken body and poured out blood of the Lamb. If it’s the Lord’s Supper, and he’s the host, and his body and his blood are what we are eating—if we are sharing, participating, fellowshipping in the broken body of Christ—then we must welcome all to the table whom the Lord our God is calling.
We tend to read this section of scripture, writes David Garland, and ask questions like “what constitutes the right observance of the Lord’s Supper?” “Who should be included, and who should be excluded.” “Is it a sacrifice offering, or a memorial meal, or a celebration of resurrection?” But as one New Testament writer puts it, “the only question that Paul raises is this: Does what is done proclaim the Lord’s death or does it advertise our selfishness?” Garland adds this poignant line:
It is their supper, not the Lord’s. It is not the Lord’s dinner because the Lord’s dinner is intended to convey to every participant that he or she is somebody precious to God. The Corinthians’ meal communicated to some that they were worthless nobodies. It was tainted by the deadly combination of indulgence and indifference.
And they learned it from their culture. One first-century Roman (Martial, Epigrams 3.60) describes his frustration at a situation just like this at a meal to which he was invited:
Since I am asked to dinner, no longer, as before, a purchased guest, why is not the same dinner served to me as to you? You take oysters fattened in the Lucrina lake, I suck a mussel through a hole in the shell; you get mushrooms, I take hog funguses…Golden with fat, a turtledove gorges you with its bloated rump; there is set before me a magpie that has died in its cage. Why do I dine without you although, Ponticus, I am dining with you?...
I don’t for one minute think in our church today, giving the same cup of juice and the same piece of bread to every person who asks on Sunday morning despises or humiliates anyone. I’m glad we all get the same. But the question persists. Is this the Lord’s supper, or is this my supper?
Do I harbor any lingering doubts about my brother because of what he is wearing? Because of how he smells? Did I choose where I sit because of how I feel about someone on the other side of the auditorium? Did I clench my purse a bit tighter when he passed by me? Do I hope that she won’t ask me to lunch? Do I really not want to be associated with them?
By the second century, Christianity was taking a foothold in large cities like Rome and Carthage. Rumors began to circulate about this band called Christians. Some said they were a cannibal cult, meeting under cover of darkness to eat flesh and drink blood. But people kept coming to Christianity. Do you know why? A Christian named Tertullian (Apology 39) wrote a little book and said, “do you know why people keep joining this group even with all the swirling rumors?”
“It is mainly the deeds of a love so noble that lead many to put a brand upon us. See how they love one another, they say…how they are ready even to die for one another, they say.”
May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another, in accord with Christ Jesus, that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God. (Romans 15:5-7 ESV).
Two Tasks For Faithful Presence Aboard The Fellow Ship
So what are the tasks Paul gives to ensure that we are asking the right questions?
There are two.
First, examine yourselves. It was before the supper in Mark’s gospel that Jesus said “one of you is going to betray me.” And each one, in turn, replied “it is not I, is it?” as if to say, “that’s terrible, but it’s not my fault!” They seem more concerned with their innocence than Jesus’ fate or the terrible fate about to befall one of their own. It seems, then, writes Garland, that “self-examination requires focusing on more than just oneself.”
Second, says Paul, “discern the body.” I love the shape of the cross that is formed by noting the first two commandments. Love God (vertical line) and love your neighbor (horizontal line). And the second is like the first. They touch. Thus forms a cross.
And so it is with this line: “discern the body.” Did you notice how Paul doesn’t mention the wine again, when he says to discern the body. He just mentions the bread. And like the bread being one loaf, says Paul, we are “one body.” One way we discern the body is by looking around. It’s easy to spend the supper sitting alone. Thinking alone. Discerning alone. That is not wrong—as long as it’s an opportunity to ask if my life is being lived alone. As Keck puts it, discerning the body is not just about the piece of bread on the table but the assembled bodies at the table. That’s the horizontal line.
But there is also a vertical line. When we discern the body, we discern Jesus. We remember that this is the Lord’s Supper. In every sense. He is the host. And he is the main course.
But these two are related. As we discern this Jesus, it changes how we treat everyone around us. “Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus” wrote Paul to the Philippians. Think on Jesus. Think like Jesus. And when you are done reflecting—that’s chapter 2—go and tell the sweet older ladies on the back row to get along—that’s chapter 4. Discern the body…then, discern the body.
Do I want that? Do I want all of God’s people at one table? Do I want to share my bread with those who need it most? Do I want to bring the life of Jesus into every area of my life? Do I want the holy meal to tell the holy story in every step I take?
If so…come to the table. For He has invited you. When a host shared a meal with guests, they formed a bond of relationship that was not to be taken lightly. Among the Greeks, eating together made you equals, and it was a way to bring unity: you didn’t speak against each other or act disunited when you were at table. And the supper Jesus envisioned was one of men and women dining together. Masters and slaves dining together. Jews and gentiles dining together. Tomorrow’s religious leaders and yesterday’s prostitutes. At the same table. There is room for you. I know that…because there is room for me.
We are one body. We show that we are one body when we gather to take the body as one body. But unlike every civic club brunch or luncheon, we gather as the body of Christ. And we participate in the Lord’s Supper. Can’t you tell? Just look at how we love one another.
This article is taken from two sermons preached at the West Side Church of Christ (Searcy, AR). One is titled “Fellowship” and the other is titled “Breaking Bread.” They are both in a sermon series centered on Acts 2:41-47 called “Community.”These lessons are available to watch or listen, and appear on the Life on the West Side podcast (Season 2, Episode 72 & Episode 73). Available on all podcast platforms.
What’s New On The West Side? Summer Series
We are gearing up for our annual summer sermon series. This summer, we have asked some of my favorite preachers and teachers to offer “their favorite sermon.”
The summer series will live stream on Wednesday evenings a 6:30 PM on facebook or YouTube. If you are in the middle Arkansas area, we would love to have you join us in person. I’ll save a seat for you.
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My name is Nathan Guy, and I serve as the preaching minister for the West Side Church of Christ in Searcy, Arkansas. I am happily married to Katie and am the proud father of little Grace. You can find more resources on my website over at nathanguy.com. Follow me: Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.